by Dee Palmer
“They seem to be getting on?” He points the neck of his beer bottle to where Hope and Pink are chatting. Hope’s filthy, throaty laugh could probably be heard on the far side of the lake, it’s so loud.
“Yeah.”
“What’s up, sugar?” He drops a heavy arm a cross my shoulders and pulls me to his solid side, tucking me right in, and I gladly nestle against his warm and comforting bare chest.
“Nothing, I’m good. I suppose I have to get used to this, don’t I?” I exhale a soulful, heavy sigh. I’m not sure I can pinpoint any one of the myriad of mixed emotions swirling inside me, but uncertainty seems to be holding pole position.
“Used to what?”
“You guys being with someone else, someone that isn’t me.”
“That’s what you think that is?” He tips my chin up so he can look directly into my eyes. I blink against the plumes of thick smoke from the barbecue. Yeah, it’s the smoke.
“Well, she likes him, and—”
“And he’s being friendly, because she’s important to you.” Toxic chuckles his interruption and tips his head to the side. A puzzled expression crinkles his forehead, and he grabs my shoulders as if to shake some sense into me. “We have to work through our feelings, understand what’s changed, before we start exploring other options, Finn. There’s no rush. This has to be right for everyone.”
“Oh, and what do you want, Marlon?” I thread my arms around his waist and hug him, my ear just over his strong heartbeat. They are such wonderful men. A big part of me doesn’t want to let them go. This is hard. He kisses my hair and steps back, dipping his eyes so he keeps the contact with mine. He wants me to see him, and more importantly, he wants me to be happy. It’s that way for each of them, and I have to remind myself I want the same for them.
“Tonight, I want to drink beer, eat charred meat, and snuggle in that hammock with my girl.” He grins a wide, white teeth and an adorable smile that fills my heart and makes it a little sad.
“Am I your girl?”
“You’ll always be my girl; that’s what you need to understand. We love you, and whatever happens, you will always be our girl,” he states, and I feel the truth wrap around me like the world’s best security blanket.
“So Pink isn’t interested in Hope?” I nod toward the silhouettes of my best friend and one of the four men I love.
“Not that I know of, but would that be a problem?”
“Not in theory, but I know Hope, and she’s never wanted this, never wanted marriage or commitment or love for that matter, and as much as she’s my friend, I won’t let her hurt him.” I open up for the first time, and it feels good to say it out loud. My concern in this instance isn’t that Pink might be interested in someone else. My concern is Hope.
“He’s a big boy.” Toxic shrugs, flipping burgers in an explosion of sparks and sizzling fat.
“He’s my boy, and I’m just as protective over you all as you are of me,” I explain, and Toxic gives a sly, knowing smirk before waving the fresh cloud of smoke away from his eyes.
“Man, I would’ve loved to see you take down those guys with the staff. I bet it was smokin’ hot.” He changes the subject and not so subtly drops his free hand to the crotch of his shorts.
“Did you just adjust yourself?”
“What?” He drops his package and holds his red-caught hands high in the air. “Just saying, I bet that looked smokin’ hot.”
“And that reaction, I’d expect from Tug,” I tease, drawing a long pull from my beer.
“True, he does have a knack of saying out loud what we’re all thinking.” He winks and laughs, and we both fall into an easy conversation about nothing until he calls out that the food is ready. Still no sign of Charge or Tug, but we’ve waited as long as our stomachs will allow.
I’ve set up a perimeter of citronella candles in an attempt to keep the bugs at bay. The food was so good and barely touched the sides I ate it so quickly, and now I’m pacing myself with the stickier challenge of roasting marshmallows. Pink and Hope came up to sit around the fire pit to eat, and we are now just chatting shit, drinking beer with our loaded sticks all hovering over the open flame of the fire pit.
“Mmm, these are good.” Hope drops a marshmallow that’s about to lose all its integrity and drip into the fire, into her open mouth. She huffs comically, waving a frantic hand to try and cool the nuclear heat that these little sweet treats reach just before they become a bubbling liquid mess of molten sugar. Hope is blessed with a metabolism that seems to thrive on sugar and carbs. How she keeps her tone and curves without stepping foot in a gym is nothing but wizardry in my eyes. It’s lucky I love her.
She pierces another sweet with the tip of her stick and sets it to roast. Smiling at me, she looks truly relaxed for the first time since she got here. “More cushion for the pushin’.” Chuckling through a mouthful of melting mallow, she grabs a handful of non-existent fat on her hip, imitating my old boss Carlos’s response to any comment about being ‘fat’.
“More what?” Toxic asks, but Hope waves off explaining.
“Carlos does love a curve,” I agree, feeling a warm wave of nostalgia soak the flash of memories of my old workplace. “Actually, Carlos loves women, in all shapes and sizes.”
“Carlos, your old boss?” Toxic asks.
“Yeah, How is he? I miss him.”
“He’s good. He’s still holding your job open for you.”
“Why would he hold your job open?” Pink frowns, looking from Toxic to me and then to Hope, where his gaze lingers for long seconds that I’m probably imagining.
“Oh, Carlos is another one like Hope; he’s not a fan of marriage, or more accurately, he does like the idea, just not the monogamy part of it, or that they last,” I clarify, labouring the negatives unnecessarily.
“Not all marriages are the same. Yours isn’t?” Hope bites.
“What are you saying? That you are a fan of marriage now? Since when?” Bristling, I don’t know what’s causing the antagonistic tone in my response, but I can’t seem to keep it in my mouth.
“We’re not talking about me, Finn. Can you just drop it?” Her voice tapers, and I feel like a complete shit, since I don’t even think this has anything to do with her, or the way my imagination is now running riot. This is all me.
“Sure, sorry. I mean, if you’ve changed your mind, then, that’s great. I didn’t mean to snark, it’s just I’ve known you since we were kids and to change just like that”—I snap my fingers for effect—“it’s a little crazy, don’t you think?”
“As crazy as emigrating to marry four guys when you’re practically a virgin, you mean?” She fires back her retort, silencing even the crackles in the roaring fire if only for a second.
“Touché.” Standing and suddenly feeling both lightheaded and very sick, I rush toward the cabin, holding my hand to mouth. I make it to the toilet just in time.
My knees are sore from skidding to the floor to hug the toilet bowl, and as my stomach rolls empty for the first time in ten minutes, the thumping in my head is replaced by that on the door behind me.
“Finn, Finn, open up, please.” Hope’s tone is deeply apologetic and entirely unfounded. I’m the one that should be sorry.
“It’s open.” Slapping my hand on the handle to flush, I grab a fist full of fresh toilet paper to wipe my face clean and dry. The back of my neck remains drenched with sweat; I can feel a drop trickle the length of my spine.
“I’m sorry.” Hope crouches beside me and pulls the soaked hair from my face.
“Why are you sorry?”
“I know I’ve been a bit weird, and—” I hold my index finger up, and she recoils, maybe thinking I’m about to hurl again. I’m not; I just need her to listen.
“It’s not you Hope. It’s me. This is all me. I’m just a bit of a mess with, well, with everything, and in times of uncertainty, I cling to what I know, and I know you. Well, I thought I did, and I don’t mean that in a bad way, I really don’t
.” Her hand drops from my hair and lands in my lap, where she threads her fingers with mine and squeezes tight. “Everyone has the right to change their mind, and I have to accept that that includes you.”
“I’m trying to be good here.” Her smile falters, and I don’t know what’s causing the hesitation in her voice, so I try my best to explain my general area of concern when it comes to Hope.
“I only need you to be ‘good’ if your intentions are less than honourable, Hope. If you’re serious about wanting love, then you have my blessing.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I nearly killed a man today. I have absolutely no idea who I am right now. I’m definitely not up to making any more life changing decisions.”
“You didn’t, though, did you?”
“No, I didn’t.” She lets out a heavy breath, and I can visibly see the relief ease the tension in her shoulders. It has been a busy day. Pulling herself and me to our feet, she holds my shoulders and her emerald green gaze bores into me. “So we’re good?”
“We are golden. I, on the other hand, drank way too much beer, had enough sugar to fall into a diabetic coma, and have possibly had too much excitement for one day. I’m going to lie in the hammock until the others get back.” She threads her arm through mine, and we walk back through the cabin and out onto the veranda.
“Looks like Toxic’s in there.” She points to the lounging form gently swinging in the hammock.
“Perfect.” I notice Pink look up from his phone with a wide grin aimed at Hope.
“It kind of is, isn’t it?” she says wistfully.
“And it’s all about to change.” I exhale, and Hope chuckles, tugging me to her side, and with a confident demeanour, offers me encouragement.
“Embrace the horror, Finn. I have, and what’s the worst that could happen?”
“Some bitch could break one of their hearts.” My declaration is heartfelt and serious enough to stop her in her tracks. Giving a tight, understanding nod, she releases her hold of me and joins Pink by the fire. Happy I’ve made myself clear, I need to let this go and focus on the future, all of our futures.
“Room for one more?” Toxic opens his eyes, and his instant smile flashes like a warm burst of sunshine across his face.
“You know it, sugar.” Stretching the webbing of the hammock to give me room, he also eases back and holds his hand to help me balance. “How are you feeling?”
“Better.” His arm acts as a pillow and my whole body melds against his. The movement of the hammock settles quickly into a hypnotic sway. Gazing up through the canopy of the trees, my eyes take a moment to register the billions of stars. It’s so beautiful here, almost perfect.
“So what was all that about?” Toxic asks after a short time.
“If I knew, I’d tell you.” Shrugging, I decide I’m done with this topic for now. It’s making my head hurt with the never-ending merry-go-round of unanswered questions and possibilities. “How about you tell me what kind of girl you want to marry?”
“Really?” He laughs and seems genuinely surprised when I’m not joining in.
“Really. I mean you must’ve thought about it. I know you love me, but if you had a clean slate, what type of woman would you be looking for?” I’m serious, and he only takes a moment before he responds in earnest.
“You’re the first blonde I’ve ever been with, so I guess my type is darker, Latin, like me. I love curves, smooth skin, and a sexy smile. I don’t know, Finn, this feels weird.” He wrinkles his nose, and it’s my turn to laugh, because it does, and it doesn’t.
“You want my help, so I’m going to need your honesty.”
“The spark. I want the spark.” His fingers trace a line, a soft stroke up and down my arm; it’s a feather light touch, tender and distracting. “You can fall in love with someone over time, or it can be quicker than that. Attraction can sometimes be mistaken for love, and affection can remain even when the attraction isn’t there anymore. Love is always the key. That’s a given, but I want the spark. That takes love to a whole other level, where something spiritual between two souls ignites, explodes and fuses.”
“That’s beautiful, Marlon.”
“I’d like to take credit, but that last bit is all Pink. I happen to agree, but I’m not so great at expressing myself.” He allows me to wriggle so I’m on my side looking up, and our faces are now much closer.
“You express yourself just fine. I totally get it. You want the magic.” His eyes look as inky as the depths of the lake in the night sky. His tan skin glows golden with the light from the fire, and shadows race and flicker over us, and all I can feel is the heat building between our bodies.
This feels natural, so what now?
“FINN’S HAD A BIT MUCH to drink.” Sitting back next to Pink by the fire pit, I suck on the fresh cold beer he’s just opened for me. He stretches out on his side on a blanket, his head resting on his hand, long legs crossed at the ankles, and a friendly smile quirked on his soft looking lips. His eyes dance with the reflection of the flame, and he fixes me with an intense and penetrating stare, like he’s trying to get a read on me. I hope it doesn’t work. He’s a little different from the others, and not just because Finn said as much. After talking to him all afternoon, he’s more than a smoking hot bod. For one, he’s smart, intuitive, easy going like me, and has a big heart. But then, they all seem to have one of those. It might be as simple an explanation as he’s the only one not still in the Navy, but I get the impression being laid back is in his nature, and the blood in his veins runs at a constant level of chilled.
“I doubt it was just the drink; she’s got a lot going on. Still, it’s nice she’s got you to share all that girlie stuff with. We’re all good listeners. Nevertheless, it’s different when you’ve known someone as long as you’ve known Finn.”
“A lot going on, you mean, with you guys. You’re all really tight, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, we’ll get through anything together. We’ve gotten through much worse than a little change of heart.”
“Change of heart?” My brows shoot up with concern.
“Turn of phrase, Hope. Finn will always have our hearts. Period. That’s just a given. This is about her really believing it. Only when that happens will she believe the words she’s saying, not just think she has to say them for us.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s a pleaser, a giver, and historically, it has been known that she says what she thinks people want to hear.” He looks my way with an affectionate, knowing smile.
Laughing lightly, I have to agree. “Yeah, that has been known.”
“We don’t want that, none of us do. We understand that she wants us to be happy, but she’s not convinced we can be, not with this new set-up. And not because she thinks she’s the only one capable of making us happy. She doesn’t have that level of modesty in one of her little fingers, but she thinks this will break us up.”
“The change has unsettled her a little, that’s for sure. Even so, I think she just needs a bit of time,” I offer, although I don’t think it’s particularly insightful, since he’s already nodding his agreement.
“Or some hard evidence that she’s not going to lose any one of us, even if we want to be with someone else.”
“And do you…want to be with someone else?” He sits up and leans closer to me, the heat from the fire is nothing compared to his incendiary gaze.
“Do you suddenly believe in marriage and happily ever afters, Hope?” His lips quirk with a mischievous grin, and I laugh, narrowing my own eyes and pointing an accusatory bottle of beer at him.
“Sneaky change of subject there, Mister P.”
“And that’s not an answer.” His smile remains wide and warm, and his glare remains just as intense as his gaze.
I feel the lump in my throat choke the lie trying to escape, and I have to settle on a complete cop out. “It’s complicated.”
Springing to his feet, he pulls his t-shirt over his back, kic
ks his sneakers off, and jogs backward toward the lake. “And that’s not a no,” he calls out, just before he splashes into the inky waters and dives beneath the surface.
“It’s a little late for a no.” My head drops back, and looking at the countless stars, I exhale a heavy sigh, hoping it will take some of the crippling pain with it. I thought coming here would be a distraction enough to forget, move on…get me back to me.
And I’m an idiot, because I don’t want to be me, not without him.
One month ago
The manor was abandoned in the nineteen seventies when the owners tried to renovate it and convert it into a luxury hotel. There wasn’t enough money, and because of the general state and remote location, and it’s been empty every since. Jørgen knows all of this, and it’s more than a mild irritant that I have to go over it all again, in person and on location. As much as I love the place, it is a wreck. Which is why it was up for auction and how we managed to buy it for the bargain price of fifteen million pounds. All the money my mother and I could raise against our homes and the salons, every penny we have, every bit of equity we could leverage, we used to buy Greycoat Manor. This place is going to be perfect, but without the investment that Jørgen represents, it’s just a white elephant that is going to take us down. The clock is no longer ticking; it’s on the final countdown.
I need his signature, and I need it today. I managed to negotiate deferred payments with the bank while we secured the necessary investment, but the rules of buying at auction mean I’m out of time. The seller wants their money, and truth is, without Mr. Jensen, we don’t have it.
There’s only electricity in part of the building, no heating, and the February sunlight has long since faded taking any warmth with it. I skipped past the tour of the grounds as they are nothing but evidence of a weary battle with nature, where nature is always the victor. There is a beautiful Victorian summerhouse that dominates the far side of the walled garden that I plan on restoring to its former glory and would love to show him, but we’ve run out of daylight. Starting at the third floor, we work our way from top to bottom, descending the servant stairwell to the corridor on the second level, which is wider than that on the top floor, and the rooms on either side are much more grand. Imposing staterooms with high ceilings and glorious circular mouldings in the centre, which are sadly cracked, ravaged by neglect and time. Still, the evidence of the grandeur of bygone days is everywhere. From the stunning double height windows, the intricacy of detail carved into the oak panelling, glints of gilt on every one of the fireplace surrounds, to the crumbling architraves.
